


Nothing like the sun

by WaterFowl



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lee/Angst, Lee/Dee - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-17
Updated: 2010-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterFowl/pseuds/WaterFowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Lee Adama and Dee actually end up on a date at the Lounge on Cloud Nine in 'Sacrifice', season 2? Set in between Billy's proposal and the scene at the Lounge bar. Admiral Adama gets to feature briefly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing like the sun

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Still intrigued with the narrative transition of Lee Adama's and Dee's dynamics in latter half of season 2. A take on how Lee and Dee might have actually ended up on a date at the Star Lounge of Cloud Nine in 'Sacrifice',.
> 
> Set in between Billy's proposal and the scene at the Lounge bar. Admiral Adama gets to feature briefly.
> 
> Disclaimer1: None of the characters, plot-points, inherent to the show, belong to me.
> 
> Disclaimer2: In the universe, where 'Starbuck' exists, among other things, I'm making an educated guess 'Moby Dick' could too. Hence courtesy of the allusion mentioned, goes to Herman Melville.

**Nothing like the sun***

\- Aren't you supposed to take it easy on reading? – his father took the glasses off, a contemplative gaze following him stroll along bookshelves, trace dimmed gilded rimming of leather covers in a kind of wistful longing.

The fairly recent Phelan-induced concussion was indeed giving him annoying headaches still, whenever he would overdo paperwork, yet he seemed to be developing a habit of plowing steadily through the Admiral's famous library, by far the vastest book collection left in the universe.

Being reading-sick, quite understandable for a hereditary book-worm, like himself, was not the only reason, however, bringing him persistently into the Admiral's quarters lately. Since being a kid he couldn't remember feeling at ease or home in his father's study, let alone in his father's presence. Yet the senior Adama's unprodding silence and a measure of agreeable, detached acceptance they seemed to have reached so far, provided him with a much desired refuge from the ever agitated hype of the pilots' quarters and lounge, out of sync almost painfully with his current languor, but above all, from the encompassing loneliness, driving him apprehensive he would actually disappear, if left on his own long enough; making the latter idea unnervingly welcome.

\- You don't look all that good.

Maintenance report put aside by then, his father was giving him a trademark intent assessing once-over, passing for concern, usually.

\- A group of officers and crew is okayed for a two-day leave on Cloud Nine. Why don't you join? I'll tell Gaeta to fit you on the shuttle list. You could use some sunshine.

A faint listless smile was his consent. There was no point arguing, since the Admiral'd made up his mind on the parenting tactics, even if he happened to harbor innermost reservations whether the luxury liner artificial sunlight could ever be remotely instrumental to dissolving his private shadows.

***

Seeking solitude, once their Raptor landed on Cloud Nine expansive hangar deck, occurred to him being nothing but natural. Joining Kara or the Marines at the bar area, they were set to hit upon arrival, didn't feel quite appealing; less still was he looking forward to bumping into Dee and the President's aide, smooching on a romantic getaway . Again.

He nearly missed Petty Officer Dualla, huddled quietly in the aft corner of the Raptor, overshadowed a good deal by an all too exuberant Marine Gun Sergeant, relaying a detailed strategy of making the most of the upcoming leave to everyone, misfortunate to share the flight. Sure enough, Billy wouldn't be delayed to enter the picture, as soon as their party touched the deck. The mental image of them snug together, evoked from memory, triggered an unbidden surge of dismay, driving him into the more deserted park areas of the huge recreation ship, with a book for company, right upon checking in and dumping his duffel bag.

The Admiral had a rigid rule of never lending books. That one, however, was a present. Whatever few times dad was around long enough, in Lee's early childhood, he would read a bed-time story of an obsessive captain, in pursuit of an evil white whale across the seas, to the boys. No matter if the battle with sleep was lost mid-paragraph – Zak drifting off a lot earlier than himself – it would've been a chapter a night, his father's voice painting oddly lulling, if gruff, pictures of roaring waves and forsaken hopes.

He'd had quite a lot of catch-up reading to do on the novel since then. At times it would appear to him, nowadays, the monstrous whale was chasing their Gods cursed fleet, lurking in barren depths of space. At other times, more so lately, he would believe it was after his very own self specifically.

***

In search of shelter from the exposing blaze of overhead lighting, he wandered to a now desolate playground. That was where he, in all honesty, least expected to ever spot Dee. Still in regulation fatigues and tank-tops, barefoot, boots kicked off with uncharacteristic disregard, she was playing hopscotch through the course, graphed permanently on the sidewalk by the lawn. One, two, three-four, five, six-seven, eight, nine-ten, skip around… Oblivious of his approaching steps, so engrossed in the activity she was.

Transfixed, he hesitated to intrude right away, drawing closer, nonetheless. It had, in all probability, never struck him so profoundly how young she actually was. There was something irrevocably wrong, he could feel with an aching pang, that the world's end should have aged them all by millennia of sorrow and devastation in advance.

Striving to balance on one foot, she tilted to the side, eventually, moving to touch the ground.

\- No cheating! – his voice echoed the mocking furrow, he couldn't help, dissolved into a teasing grin. It had been quite a while since he experienced amusement par to witnessing her blush.

\- Care to showcase some class, maybe, Captain? – it was her turn to get amused, regarding his expression shift from cautiously stupefied to downright panicked. – Just don't tell me you've never done a course of hopscotch!

\- That's a girls' thing. – there was no way escaping to give pouting his best shot.

Her laughter vibrating through the curtain of pouring light made him wonder for a moment if the rays of artificial sunshine and spears of grass could be ringing in response. Rapidly seeping up conscious flush, however, slipped the defensive mode on before he could mentally kick himself into shutting up:

\- Why don't you invite Mr. perfect little Presidential aide, then, if that's so much fun? Or has he got other appointments on busy R&R schedule?

He had no reasons to doubt that was it. She'd be gone halfway to the farthest lounge, to meet up with the aforementioned Mr. Perfect, by the time he was done flexing those sarcastic muscles. A murkier part of him complied it was probably for the better. A more reasonable one got genuinely intrigued how exactly he had managed to hone the masochistic streak to repeatedly torture himself by discrediting any snippet of levity, coming his way. All fractures of his mind snapped to tantalized alert, when she actually graced him with an answer, devoid of indignation only to be expected:

\- I wouldn't know. I'm not here to meet Billy.

A kind of serene liberation, threaded through her voice and fleeting through the glimmering stare, fixed on the fake horizon over his shoulder, made his heart miss a bit, both with searing embarrassment and diligently eschewed relief. Immediately awkward in the ensuing silence, he had to busy himself with picking up a suitable pebble for the dice. One, two, three-four, five, six-seven, eight, nine-ten, skip around.

\- Your turn! – he stared her down triumphantly, allowing himself to bask in the way her eyes flashed in surprise and coy menace, acknowledging the challenge.

…six-seven, eight, nine-ten. To step off the numbered squares had, somehow, not occurred to him, as her small frame landed the last leap into personal space they now shared. It was suddenly taking all he got not to descend instantaneously parched lips on her face, raining kisses, drinking in the delicious mellow glow.

She was the first one to break the moment, stepping around him silently to fetch her boots off the grass, lowering her gaze, as if startled by his intensity. Acute awareness of the shady hollow, abrupt lack of her proximity inflicted, invigorated him enough to grasp for obvious, yet ever evasive, words, mutilated into a rather pitiful stammer by apprehension:

\- Would you… um… I was gonna grab a drink around 19:00 at the Star Lounge. Would you care to join me?

He could only hope the tentative plea was not too apparent in his voice, quivering oh so indiscreetly. Soothing anticipation soaked him in luminous flow, as she met his stare, nodding quiet agreement:

\- It's a date**.

Her retreating form no longer discernible through the shrubs across the lawn, his eyes drifted up, squinting at the blinding brightness with unruffled acceptance. Maybe he could imagine himself thriving on sunshine, after all?

**Author's Note:**

> *Cf. Sonnet 130 by W. Shakespeare
> 
> **The snippet of dialogue is borrowed from BSG ep. 4.11 'Sometimes a Great Notion'. I prefer interpreting Lee and Dee's little exchange as a private code of sorts.


End file.
